Some Women (5 page)

“I know.” Mackenzie's hand went instinctively to her stomach. “We're working on it.” It was a slippery slope deciding how much information to divulge to CeCe.

“Well, if there's a
problem
 . . .” She strummed her manicured red nails on the desk as she awaited Mackenzie's response.

“I don't think there is.” Although she had wondered the same thing.

“Have you thought about”—she paused, presumably searching for the most clinical word she could come up with—“intervention?”

“Not really. I mean, I'm still pretty young. You know, I'm not even thirty yet.”

“Youth may not have anything to do with it.” She took a small sip from her glass of Perrier with three limes. Always three limes. Two bobbing around in the Perrier; one on the rim. “Call Dr. Billingsly.”

“I'm not sure that'll be necessary. I bet we'll have good news very soon.”

“Well, I certainly hope so.” CeCe stood up, indicating that Mackenzie should do the same and that their brief conversation was over.

“Me too.” She smiled, well aware that the gesture wouldn't be reciprocated. Having been dismissed, she walked toward the door to leave.

“Oh, and, Mackenzie.”

“Yes?” She turned back around.

“I hope you realize that anything else would be”—she cleared her throat—
“unacceptable.”

Why on earth had Piper ever told Annabel she'd help investigate her husband?
Why?
Nothing good could come of it. Nothing at all. If she did, in fact, catch him in the act of cheating or anything resembling it—which she would, if there was any truth to Annabel's speculation—Piper worried Annabel would unwillingly resent her. Of course she'd
said
she wouldn't shoot the messenger. That she would be profoundly grateful if Piper uncovered something—
anything
. It had almost sounded as if she'd wanted her husband to be an adulterer. Still, Piper had been down this road before. Not with a friend, and certainly not with someone she'd met only months earlier, although she and Annabel had clicked immediately. But with her own aunt—her mother's older sister—who was practically like a second mother to Piper.

She'd never forget the day her aunt Claire had shown up at their front door, her face stained with tears, her hands balled into tight
fists, wearing an expression that conveyed fear, anger, shame, and bewilderment. They'd later found out that her husband, Bob, Piper's favorite uncle, had been having an affair with her aunt's best friend of fifteen years and that there was a distinct possibility that her friend's youngest daughter was Bob's child. Fortunately, DNA testing had later proven otherwise, but her aunt didn't care. All she could focus on was the lacerating betrayal. She'd lived with Piper's family for six months until the divorce had been finalized, sleeping in the bedroom next to Piper's. If ever she'd actually slept. All Piper could remember was overhearing her heaving sobs and occasional cursing fits through their thin walls. She'd felt powerless in her desire to ease her aunt's pain, to put an end to her misery.

Perhaps that was part of the reason she wanted to support Annabel now. Even though she'd never been able to rescue her aunt, she was suddenly in a position where she could help someone in a similar predicament.

Annabel didn't seem like the sort of person who would direct her wrath at Piper. She was much too refined and uptight for that, though it was hard to say what someone would do in the heat of rage. For her own part, she'd lost her temper with Fern on a few occasions when a sudden swell of frustration had gotten the best of her. Now, in hindsight, she realized that in those moments she'd felt out of control, unable to prevent herself from snapping at her daughter. Of course, she'd never laid a hand on her and never would. Still, the realization that a switch could be flipped just like that was humbling.

She sat cross-legged at her computer. Todd was downstairs, watching some legal drama, and Fern had gone to sleep hours earlier, clutching her tattered copy of
Charlotte's Web
—with its many earmarked pages, highlighted passages, and notes in the
margins. Tonight Piper had sat at the edge of Fern's bed and watched her until she'd fallen asleep, inching closer to stroke her cheek and then her head. Finally, as she'd felt herself drifting off in an upright position, she'd placed the softest peck on Fern's button nose and resigned herself to her office to get some work done. Only she hadn't been able to concentrate. Instead, she'd started looking for Max. Her Max. Not anymore, though he was still Fern's father, at least by blood. He was also the only man who'd shredded her heart with his absence.

Two hours later, she'd turned up nothing—a galling reality for someone who prided herself on being able to find anyone, anywhere, at any time. Exasperated, Piper turned her attention to Annabel's husband. Before she could really start staking out his movements, she needed to arm herself with more information. Who was this man? What types of places would he frequent to meet this mystery lady, if he met her in public at all? She typed
Henry Ford
into her search engine. It didn't help that he shared a name with possibly the most prominent American industrialist of all time and the founder of the Ford Motor Company. Had his parents done that intentionally? It had always seemed cruel to Piper when people forced their children into the shadow of someone famous. If her last name had been Streisand, she certainly wouldn't have named her daughter Barbra.

Once she'd weeded through the articles on the legendary Henry Ford, she'd come upon a number of links related to Annabel's husband, who was quite a success story in his own right. As a technology entrepreneur, he'd launched his first start-up company in late 2003, after scaling the corporate ladder at Amazon.com by playing a fundamental role in the growth of their e-commerce.
Since that time, he'd negotiated major deals with an assembly of other tech giants, including Apple, Microsoft, Dell, IBM, and Google. Most recently, he'd presented a TED Talk that had been hailed as “genius” by Mark Zuckerberg. The funny thing was, Annabel hadn't mentioned any of that. She'd said only that he ran a business in the Internet space and that he made a lot of money. Piper had no idea how sizable his paycheck actually was, but judging from the scant research she'd done, Annabel stood to come away with a substantial chunk of change, especially if she could prove that he'd been unfaithful.

Just what Piper needed: more pressure. She stretched her arms above her head, leaned back against her chair, and yawned. She checked the clock on her laptop, which read just past midnight, and then shut it down. Exhaustion had set in somewhere in the neighborhood of ten thirty, but, as usual, she'd pushed through it, too ensconced in her sleuthing to surrender to sleep. Todd was probably already in bed. She crept downstairs to pour herself a glass of water and noticed that the living room light was still on.

“Hey, you,” Todd whispered, so as not to wake Fern, who'd been a light sleeper since the day she was born.

“Hey. I thought you'd be down for the count already.” She sat next to him on the couch, curling her body into his and resting her heavy head against his chest. She'd always found his heartbeat strangely soothing.

“I probably should be, but I got to reading after my show ended and I couldn't put it down.” He held up a thick hardcover novel with a judge's gavel on the cover.

“Wow, Fern's really rubbing off on you, huh?” She smiled and then kissed him on the lips, caressing his bristly face with her hand.

“So have you.” He smiled and kissed her back, lingering for longer this time. “What has you burning the midnight oil?” He looked at his watch. “Literally.”

“Just work stuff.” She sat up, propping herself against the sofa cushion with her elbow. She hadn't told him about Annabel's request. In part because he'd met her only one time, when he'd picked up Piper from her exercise class. But also because she knew he'd tell her what she already suspected: that it was a really bad idea to rummage through a friend's dirty laundry. Even if you planned to wash, dry, and fold it for her.

Todd was far more practical than she was. It was one of the many things she loved about him. He made comprehensive lists. He categorized his socks by type—casual or dress—and color. He kept a schedule and followed it. He thought about dinner before his stomach was already grumbling. And he bought gifts in advance of every holiday. All things that Piper had neither an affinity for nor an interest in. Prior to Todd, the inside of their house had looked like the aftermath of a hurricane. Hurricane Piper. She wished she could say it had been organized chaos. But there had been nothing organized about it. Weeks' worth of mail had been stacked into towering piles on the kitchen counter. Clothing had been flung over the backs of chairs, where it would remain for anywhere from a week to a month. Food had remained in the refrigerator well past its expiration date. And credit card receipts had been crumpled into balls and shoved in drawers or cubbies. It wasn't that she'd enjoyed living that way. It was just that because there had always been so much to do, orderliness had never taken priority.

When she and Todd had determined that he was going to move
in with them, he'd gingerly broached the subject of Piper's pigsty. She'd never forget how he'd twisted his face and gesticulated with his hands as he'd attempted to arrive at the best way of conveying his feelings about the shambolic environs he was readying to inhabit. He must have started his first sentence four or five times until she'd finally told him to spit it out, for fear that he'd changed his mind. For fear that he'd decided to remain at peace in his uncluttered world.

Todd had been visibly surprised when Piper had said she'd be thrilled if he hired a cleaning service to come in and whip the place into shape. He'd then taken it a step further and suggested that someone come regularly, maybe once a week, and stressed that he'd be footing the bill for it. He'd been worried, he'd admitted, that it would be too much, too soon for him to arrive and overhaul things. But Piper had reassured him that it was his home now, as well as theirs, and that he had to be just as comfortable as she and Fern were living in it. Not to mention that everyone would benefit from occupying a cleaner, neater space.

“You work too hard.” He raked his fingers through the spirals in her dark brown hair—she'd wrestled them into loose waves that morning, but they'd since coiled back into tight corkscrews, thanks to the damp weather outside. “And they don't appreciate you enough.”

“You get paid to say that.” She smiled at him adoringly. He was the only man she'd ever been with who wanted to protect her. The only man who'd put her well-being and the well-being of her daughter before his own. After so many years of taking care of herself and Fern, it was like she didn't know how to let someone take care of her. Todd had told her she would have to learn, because he
planned to tend to her and spoil her for the rest of their lives. She often asked herself how she'd gotten so lucky to have met such a gift of a human being. Because she wasn't the sole beneficiary of Todd's goodwill. There was his mother, Berta, and his sister, Sally, who lived in Florida. Not only did he cover many of their bills, but he spoke to them almost every day, checking in to ensure that they didn't want for anything, either financially or emotionally.

It was a shame Todd had never had the opportunity to become a father. No one was better suited for the job than he was, which was why it was so important to Piper to get to the bottom of Fern's apparent change of heart.

“I wish I did.” He laughed. “Is it so wrong that I want to be able to take my wife on vacation once in a while?”

“Wife?” Piper grinned. They'd discussed the prospect of getting married on a number of occasions. Of getting married
one day
.

Sure there'd been a period in Piper's life when daydreaming about her wedding had been a preferred pastime. She'd never been one of those women who desired something over-the-top, with three hundred people she didn't know and a dress so heavy she could barely walk. Instead, she'd pictured a beach setting. Bare feet. A garland of daisies and baby's breath fashioned into a white halo around her head. Her groom in khaki pants and an untucked white linen shirt.

Her groom
. In her reveries, his face had always been Max's. Even after he'd left. Because nobody ran out on their girlfriend and child forever. Right?

“Wishful thinking, I suppose.” He pulled her onto his lap.

“Is that so?” She curled her arm around his neck.

“If I have anything to say on the matter.”

Of course it had crossed her mind that he would propose eventually. To be honest, though, she hadn't given a whole lot of thought as to when that would be. Had he looked at rings? Would he ask her father's permission? Suddenly her heart was stampeding in her chest.

“Well, let's just hope Fern comes around by then.”

“She will.” Todd nodded confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” How could he always be so sure about everything? Piper could spend forty minutes vacillating on what to order for dinner. But if you asked Todd, he could answer without a moment's hesitation. Chinese. Pizza. Sushi.

“Because I know her. And I also know that this is a completely normal reaction to having your mother's boyfriend move into your home, when it's been just the two of you for as long as you can remember.”

“It sounds funny when you call yourself my boyfriend. I feel like I should be wearing your class ring or your letterman jacket. You know, the ones with the white leather sleeves. God, those were cool.”

“You may be in luck. I think my mother still has mine from varsity baseball.”

“No!”

“Yup. Have you ever known my mother to throw anything out?”

“Is that why you love me so much, because I'm a pack rat like she is?”

“I believe the politically correct term is
hoarder
. But that is definitely not why I love you so much. Although I do love you a hell of a lot.” He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her eagerly this time, as their mouths opened and tongues entwined. “What do you say we take this up to the bedroom?”

“I say, ‘Yes, please,'” she panted as he stood up and hoisted her into his arms.

“And I say, ‘That makes you one very smart lady.'”

As he carried her up the stairs and down the dimly lit hallway, neither of them noticed the crack in Fern's door and the silhouette of her body, cloaked in the shadows, up long past her bedtime.